


Nightcall

by FAB900



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BSOD, Car Sex, Come Swallowing, Deepthroating, Dry Orgasm, Face-Fucking, First Time, Footjob (kind of), Forced Orgasm, Foreskin Play, Hand Jobs, In-Denial Deviant Connor, M/M, Making Out, Missing Scene, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Public Sex, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Smoking, Sock Garters, Takes place between "Eden Club" and "The Bridge" chapters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 08:28:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15882345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FAB900/pseuds/FAB900
Summary: Connor never expected the day to end like this.He's not complaining, though.





	Nightcall

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies if there's any errors remaining.

_Think fast, Connor._

_> Shoot?  
>Don’t shoot?_

A moment’s hesitation, then he lowered the gun.

**[SOFTWARE_INSTABILITY_^^^^^]**

Connor did not know why. The two Traci units could’ve killed – destroyed – him and Hank. But he stood resolute, and listened to the deviants talk about their ‘love’ – _but they can’t love. They are machines, they can only emulate emotions. Whatever they ‘feel’ are simply errors in their software –_ and did nothing to stop them when they turned to flee over the chain-link fence, the sound of their high-heeled shoes clacking against the concrete and disappearing under the din of the pouring rain.

They were gone. He would probably never see them again.

He had _failed._

A mixture of panic and frustration bubbled from within the android, anxiety coiling where Connor’s guts would be if he had any. Why had he let them go? He should’ve squeezed the trigger of the gun tighter and let their deviant blood coat the alleyway – not let them run off into the night together.

Amanda would be disappointed. The thought of her voice, even and calm, but with that edge of accusation as she spoke of her displeasure at his failure to capture the deviants made something akin to dread course through Connor’s Thirium-pumping veins.

No – he couldn’t panic. He was nothing more than a tool, a machine. Whatever he was ‘feeling’ was just a programmed response to failure. Connor refused to acknowledge anything else to the contrary.

He wasn’t a deviant.

A shuffle from behind him alerted him to Hank’s presence.

“It’s probably better this way…” Hank’s voice was steady, betraying nothing of how he really felt, the only indication that Connor’s choice hadn’t upset the man was their relationship meter going up in the corner of his mind palace.

**[HANK_^^^^^]**

In Hank’s eyes, Connor’s decision had been the right one.

_But why?_

All the evidence Connor had collected up until this point suggested that Hank had a significant hatred of androids; yet whenever Connor actually did something that should’ve pleased his superior, he had the opposite reaction instead. It was baffling, frustrating – the man had anti-android paraphernalia plastered all over his work station and car, but was also happy to let murderous deviants go at the same time.

Hank really should’ve been an annoying hindrance to his investigation – he was an irritating, walking contradiction of a man that liked to find comfort in the bottom of a bottle when things got a little rough, an alcoholic outclassed in every way by his subordinate. Often Connor would feel the word ‘useless’ rest heavy on the tip of his tongue, but it always died there, unspoken.

The lieutenant was already aware of his inadequacies. Connor did not feel the need to rub salt into an open wound; their carefully-constructed relationship was already fragile enough without Connor wrecking it for his own self-satisfaction or desire to just be _cruel_.

The photograph and gun in Hank’s house had told Connor all he needed to know about the state of Hank’s mind, and why he was the way he was. Something instinctively told him that sympathising with the man would be more likely to make them _friends,_ and Connor put the sensation down to his social relationship program.

He could blame the fascination to pull apart all the complex layers of Hank and desire to know what made Hank so intriguing, so irrational down to his programming too, even though the idea of getting _attached_ to Hank troubled Connor greatly.

Three deviants had previously gotten away earlier on in the day; all of them because of Hank. It was sobering to know that he had possibly just let another two androids go only because Connor did not want to experience Hank’s distress at the alternatives.

Connor jolted out of his thoughts when Hank patted his shoulder, urging him back into the warehouse. Compliant, he allowed himself to be dragged away, past the androids all neatly stacked into rows with Hank’s palm warm and comforting against his shoulder.

The thrumming bass and violent lighting struck all of the android’s optics at once when they entered back into the main showroom, a contrast to the gloomy mood that prevailed in the storage facility. All the sex workers were still there; shimmering bodies writhing in their glass cages, vying for their attentions.

Hank squeezed his shoulder harder at the sight.

“…This place is making me nauseous, let’s get outta here.” sympathy tinged Hank’s voice. Although lacking the ability to throw up, Connor couldn’t help agreeing. The place _was_ unsettling, sleaziness hidden behind sophisticated lighting and glossy surfaces.

Connor did not want to vomit nor did he want to _leave_ because the place disturbed him. Impossible – he was just…jumbled up at the moment. Yes, that was it. What the deviants had said hadn’t affected him _at all._

So why could he not stop recalling the memories of the Traci units that he had seen during his memory probing attempts, during his search for the blue-haired Traci? The way people had eyed them – _him –_ hungry lust clouding their features, the anticipation rolling off them like waves had made his skin prickle, knowing what they yearned for.

The icy touch of rain brought Connor back out of his pondering, just in time to stop himself from crashing into a shorter, chubby man pacing around on the pavement outside of the club.

“Woah! That was close!” Detective Ben Collins chortled, inclining his head in greeting towards his superior. One of his whiskered eyebrows cocked up when he eyeballed the duo.

“Ben? What are ya’ still doing in this shithole?” Hank hastily stopped grabbing onto the android’s shoulder and Connor missed the soothing calmness of it almost immediately. It grounded him better than his coin ever had.

Collins’ gaze narrowed, mouth quirked at the corners, like he was private to a particularly funny joke that he seemed intent not to let the pair onto. “Just wanted to see if you were okay, Hank. You look like shit, man, no offence.”

Hank snorted, but his bloodshot eyes and greasy hair (even after his impromptu shower) didn’t invalidate the statement. “I get enough sass off him—” Hank jerked him thumb in Connor’s direction, “—don’t need you giving me lip too.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, just making sure,” guffawed the detective, using his sleeve to wipe away raindrops off his tablet screen. “Considering you’re empty-handed, I take it you didn’t find the perp.”

Taking out his coin, Connor listened with rapt interest as he let the cold edge of the metal disc roll over his knuckles, pre-constructing over a hundred excuses that he could tell Collins about why he had let the deviants go.

“…Nope. Probably long gone by now, it was unlikely that they were going to stick around and wait for us to turn up, anyway.” the coin stopped. Hank had lied for him – Connor’s Thirium pump skipped a beat when they spared a glance towards each other.

Scepticism dripped from Collins’ voice when he began to speak, “huh, funny that. Haven’t all the deviants you found today gotten away?” he gestured towards Connor with his tablet, “maybe the android’s broken, Hank, if it isn’t doing its job properly.”

About to retort that he wasn’t _broken_ and was functioning at optimal levels, Hank stepped in instead, shaking his head. “Nah. It was – my fault, slowing him – _it_ – down and making it look after my sorry ass, ha.”

Collins did not look convinced. For being so outwardly jovial, he was surprisingly sharp.

“Hmm, doesn’t seem to be looking after you that well – you look like you’ve been dragged out of a hedge backwards. And, Jesus, did you dress in the dark too? You’re missing, like, half of your buttons, Hank,” Collins broke out into a sly grin as he ogled the android. “Actually, _you’re_ missing some too, now that I’m looking. Just what were you doing with your android, _Lieutenant_?”

Horror flashed across Hank’s face while Connor counted his buttons. He had lost two, compared to Hank’s four. Collins’ observational skills were apparently not to be missed with – he _was_ a detective, noticing such things was his job and it was an insult to expect anything less from him.

And the detective had well and truly cornered them like the veteran that he was. To tell Collins the truth about the evening – in which they had lost their buttons during the altercation with the WR400s, or dig themselves further into a pit of lies, to tumble down into a bottom abyss that surely awaited the both of them. The idea of nothingness was a terrifying, if yet comforting prospect.

It would likely become a reality too if Captain Fowler heard of Connor’s increasingly irrational habit of letting deviants walk free.

Unsurprisingly, Hank did the opposite of what Connor expected him to. He took the third option and didn’t respond at all, lips pressed into a hard line. An image of calm collectedness, if not for the red flush mottling the lieutenant’s cheeks.

The wrinkles on Collins’ face crinkled in amusement. “Keeping quiet I see—” a ‘ping’ cut him off. “Well. That’s my cue to leave, then; probably Jeff naggin’ at me to get back to the station,” he touched the alert to open it, “yup, what did you know? It is. Guess I’ll see ya’ lads later.” and with a wave, he waddled off back to his nearby cruiser. He stopped before getting in, turning to look at the two speechless figures.

“Hank?” Collins called out.

“…What?”

“If you’re going off for round two, you’re going to put something on the end of _it_ , yeah?” and with that, the detective ducked into his car, laughing so loud Connor could still hear it over the sound of rain and the purr of the engine.

They both watched him drive off, Hank flabbergasted, Connor pensive.

“…Did Ben seriously just tell me to practice safe sex, at my age...? Fuck me.” Hank groaned.

“Detective Collins has appeared to have misunderstood the situation.” Connor stated unnecessarily. 

Hank rolled his eyes, “no shit, Sherlock. We’re fucked by the way, Ben’s a right old gossip when he wants to be, it’ll be all over the station tomorrow that I’m apparently bumping uglies with my android during investigations. Another page to my ‘novel’ too I assume, if Jeffrey hears about this.”

“Maybe you should tell them the truth if you want to keep your reputation intact, Lieutenant.”

“Shut up, Connor. I’m not going to drop you in it just to save my own skin – I don’t give a damn about my reputation most of the time, I killed any semblance of the one I had years ago by myself,” Hank said through gritted teeth, annoyance melting away into tiredness. “I’m just not…into _doing_ things that can’t say yes or no, alright? I haven’t fallen that far yet that I need to get off with someone that can’t refuse; I don’t want people to think of me as some sort of perverted sleaze.”

_Don’t mention the magazines in his room._

Pocketing his coin, Connor paused to think, trailing behind Hank as they walked to his decrepit vehicle. He didn’t actually know if the man wanted him to follow, but he was going to anyway.

“Are you saying that if I said ‘yes’, you would engage in sexual activity with me?”

Connor bumped hard into Hank’s back when he abruptly stopped.

“…Say ‘yes’? What a load of bull. You’re just programmed to say ‘yes’. I meant – for you to _want_ to have sex. Not because _I_ might be interested,” Hank’s ears turned red. “Not that I am, by the way, you goofy-looking shit.”

_What a liar._

“Lieutenant, please. Your accelerated heart rate when we talked about my physical appearance during lunch was a clear indication that you are, in fact, very attracted to me,” his tone was plain, “my programming suggested that you were very receptive to my ‘flirting’ at the time, and I’m sure you’ll be just as responsive to the idea of sexual intercourse with me, too.”

Hank turned around, repulsion marring his features so much that Connor cringed. He had said something wrong, obviously.

**[HANK_vvvvv]  
[HANK_WARM]**

“So trying to get into my pants is one of your protocols now, is it? Just how much of you is real or just you acting off a fuckin’ script?” Hank stormed off to the car, “for a second I thought you might’ve actually liked me, or wanted to get to know me, but no it’s all fuckin’ numbers and code to you. I was stupid for thinking otherwise, wasn’t I? Now fuck off, and get out of my sight.” he wrenched open the door on the driver’s side before slamming it closed behind him.

Connor hurriedly climbed into the passengers’ side, the creases on his forehead deepening.

“What part of ‘fuck off’ didn’t you understand?” Hank huffed, switching on the engine and hurriedly reaching to turn off the music that came blaring out of the speakers, rubbing at his temples.

“I am concerned about your well-being, Lieutenant. You only came out of an Ethylic coma a few hours ago, and, even without a sample, I am fairly certain the levels of alcohol in your bloodstream are still illegally high,” Connor mulled over what to say next, hesitant, “—you are behaving irresponsibly, and you know it. Without knowing the exact amount of alcohol still present, there is a very high chance that you could cause a serious accident—”

**[HANK_v]**

The smell of ethanol permeated Connor’s nostrils when he was dragged forward by his tie. Hank snarled, “concerned? Piss off with that shit; you made yourself well and truly clear that the only thing you care about is your fuckin’ mission. Now get off your high horse, take a sample, realise I’m not drunk and then fuck and leave me alone, understood?” spittle flecked at Connor’s face.

Not enough to use for an analysis.

Connor did not spare much thought on how to attain the saliva sample he needed from Hank. Letting the man spit on his fingers or even into his mouth were viable options – but not the ones that would yield the reaction that Connor hoped to achieve.

He leaned forward, pressing his mouth over his superior’s, his plastic lips brushing against Hank’s. Immediately, the man protested, muffled as Connor dived his oral analyser deep into the hot cavern of Hank’s mouth.

“Mmmfh!”

Ignoring his complaints, Connor threaded his hands through Hank’s lank hair and brought him closer, scraping his tongue into every nook and cranny, all the way from the back molars to underneath Hank’s own tongue to collect as much of the man’s spit as he could.

_Whisky, toothpaste, tobacco, tomato, cheese, herbs, coffee—_

Out of all the substances Connor had analysed so far in his short life, _this_ was the one that made his simulated breathing hitch at the onslaught of information – and it was only Hank’s saliva. How odd. Greedily, he delved further to lick at the roof of Hank’s mouth, the shudder from the man wracking through his own body. 

It was over too soon for the android as Hank began to tug at his jacket somewhat desperately, possibly needing air.

Such a necessity was a bother.

Reluctantly, Connor pulled away, wiping away the drool that dribbled down his chin as they broke apart. Hank panted, harshly, his breath frosting in the cool November air, offset by the crimson on his cheeks travelling all the way down to his neck and under his shirt.

“I – I asked you to take a sample, not _kiss_ me, Connor – fuck, someone could have seen us!” the android quirked an eyebrow.

“But I did take a sample, Lieutenant.” tone smug, Connor allowed a small smile to tug at his lips.

“You could’ve…just used your fingers…or something…”

The smile turned into a smirk. Connor let his eyelids droop and leaned over into Hank’s personal space, amused as the man recoiled back.

“I could have.” whispered Connor huskily into the shell of Hank’s ear. He left Hank to gawp at him, settling back into his seat. “Anyway. Your BAC is still 0.005% over the legal limit. Still too high for you to drive, but I won’t push. I will, _however_ , insist on accompanying you to your next location, Lieutenant. Please?”

Hank ducked his head, still looking shell-shocked and red in the face.

“Fine. Just – don’t – keep out of my space, okay?”

“I can’t promise that.” he winked.

**[HANK_^]**

He just barely heard the ‘ _fucking androids’_ Hank muttered underneath his breath when they sped away from the club.

**\\\\\///\\\\\///**

They pulled up in front of a liquor store only minutes later.

Scandalised, Connor threw Hank a look, who just waved it away with a disgruntled noise in response.

“Wait here, I’ll be back soon.” was all Hank said, unclipping his seatbelt and leaving the car. Connor watched the man dash into the store as quickly as possible, trying to get out of the thickening rain. It was more sleet at this point; sticking to the windows and making it hard to keep an eye on his superior.

He gave up trying to spy on him with his super-tuned optical units, the condensation fogging up the glass to the point where Hank just became a blur. He was satisfied, anyway; it appeared that Hank had bypassed the whisky, heading for the beer section.

Connor waited. And waited. Hank looked to to be dithering in the store for some reason. There wasn’t anyone else in there apart from the android serving, so just what was the man up to?

Bored, Connor started to dwell on the events of the day. So much had happened within the span of a few hours – the morning had started with Hank throwing him against a glass wall in fury, and only a few minutes earlier, Connor had _kissed_ the man, and was fully intent on understanding the man on a more personal level.

Intimacy. Sex. It was a mysterious concept to the android, despite his apparent confidence. Even though he had been ‘seducing’ Hank earlier on in the day, there had been a very low chance that Hank would’ve taken the bait and acted upon it. Meaning that Connor hadn’t really thought about what might have happened if things had progressed.

Indeed, he had phallic hardware and a set of pre-programmed protocols similar to that of a Traci model. The android wasn’t really sure why – he was designed to hunt down deviants, not indulge in sexual activities. Perhaps it had just been a ‘no expenses’ spared type of thing – an advanced prototype with all the trimmings.

Deep down, Connor knew exactly why he had genitals at all. A negotiator and investigator specifically designed to be handsome and attractive to both sexes, an android that could spread his legs for whomever needed persuading – be it witnesses, criminals or even his co-workers.

The memories of the Traci androids played again and something churned within his chest cavity.

**[SOFTWARE_INSTABILITY_^]**

The thump of the car door jolted Connor from his line of thinking. Hank had returned. He did not seem to be able to meet Connor’s eyes, stashing the bag on the backseat as if trying to hide it. It was too dark to make out the contents of what was inside of it apart from vague shapes, several glass bottles and… _two_ boxes? One was probably a pack of cigarettes, but the other? Hank didn’t appear to be the type to smoke often enough to need two packets.

Whatever. It wasn’t Connor’s place to pry, so instead he just asked, “Lieutenant, where are we going now?”

“Did you have to disturb the peace?” Hank clicked his seatbelt into place and started to pull off again. He sighed heavily when the android practically pouted at him. “I just need to go somewhere to think.”

“You can think at home—”

Hank cut him off. “Connor. Shut up.”

Peeved, the android bit back whatever he was going to say and took to watching the automatic taxis zoom past instead. There weren’t that many, the late hour and the looming threat of heavy snowfall probably deterring anyone from making unnecessary journeys.

Connor deemed their own journey an unnecessary one as they pulled up to their destination. A dead end, with a children’s playground nearby. An odd location to indulge in, Connor thought as Hank turned off the engine, the rumble of the motor cutting out sharply.   

Peeking out of the corner of his eyes, the android watched Hank twist in his chair to reach for a beer. His other hand was searching in his jacket pocket, trying to find something that he apparently didn’t have. Cursing, Hank started to put the bottle back, almost mournfully.

“Can’t believe I forgot my pocketknife…”

“I can open it.” Connor snatched the bottle, twisting the cap off with a small hiss with his fingertips. He handed the bottle back to the awed man in a way that could almost be construed as arrogant.

**[HANK_^]**

“Thanks?” said Hank, taking a contended sip of his beer.

The android fidgeted with his cuffs. “…I should be thanking _you_ , Lieutenant,” Hank threw him a questioning look, gulping down more of the amber liquid. “You lied to Detective Collins about what happened back at the Eden Club. It would’ve been more beneficial for you to tell him the truth, yet you didn’t. I appreciate being able to continue…my mission.”

That wasn’t right. He knew that his mission was dropping on his list of priorities, but lying to himself and to Hank about it felt good nonetheless.

Hank rested the bottle against his thigh, playing with the neck of it. His gruff voice was barely audible, “didn’t do it for your stupid mission. I did it because I wanted to,” he knocked back the rest of the beer and threw the empty bottle behind him, “it’s repayment, considering you saved my life earlier.”

“You’re important to m– my mission. There was a chance you could’ve died,” _only a small one._ “Helping you was more important.”

“Really? I’ve done nothing to help you during this investigation. I’m just a spare part – leaving me to die up there would’ve made your job a whole lot easier, but you didn’t.”

Connor grew uncomfortable at the implications. Finding it hard to speak, he decided not to.

Hank drummed a muffled beat against his knee with his fingertips.

“’Ay, Connor?”

“Yes, Lieutenant?”

“Earlier – at Chicken Feed – were you really running off a script, a program? Because…” Hank sounded strained, but hopeful.

Connor considered his choices. Lying was likely to hurt Hank – he should tell him the truth.

“Sort of. I am a highly sophisticated prototype as you know—”

“Yeah, don’t brag about it too much you know?”

Connor disregarded the interruption. “—I am pre-programmed with a social module that adapts to situations in real-time. I analyse behaviours of humans and androids and decide which path I should take in conversing with them,” trying to muster as much sincerity in his voice and eyes as he could, Connor continued, “to put it simply, I engaged in flirtatious behaviour with you because I—“ _wanted to._ “—deemed it the best way to improve our relationship.”

He should have stopped there. He had answered the question, talking any more felt like he was going to fall off the edge of the cliff he was teetering on. But the words crawled their way out of his throat, choking him, spitting out in rush.

“You _aren’t_ necessary to my mission, or this investigation. I can do it alone. Yet – I’d simply like to pursue a relationship with you, Lieutenant, just because I can.”

**[SOFTWARE_INSTABILITY_^^^^^]**   
**[HANK_^^^^^]**   
**[HANK_FRIEND]**

Hank moved so fast that Connor barely had time to register his movement, the man reaching forward to clash their mouths together in a bruising kiss, smooth lips gliding against chapped ones.

Stunned, but quickly recovering, Connor returned the kiss with enthusiasm, reaching out to place a hand on Hank’s thigh. A thumb ran over the shaved hair on the back of his neck, the sensation dulled because of the lowered sensitivity of his tactile receptors. A cruel reminder of his true purpose – designed for his mission first, pleasure later.

But that could change. He internally adjusted the settings of all of his sensors, slowly increasing them until he registered the rough texture of Hank’s jeans underneath his fingertips, the hot exhales against his mouth and the small scratches against his nape.

Oh, these sensations were...pleasant. He wouldn’t ever want to turn them back them if they felt so good all the time, each new touch sending jolts of electricity through his circuits and all the way to his main processing unit. An unfamiliar heat built up within Connor’s wires, visceral and uncontrolled, coiling all the way down, _down_ to his groin.

Hank pulled back with an appreciative hum, eyes dark and with a fire that Connor had never seen before. It stirred something within him, his member twitching in his pants at the wild sight of it.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Hank mumbled, still not leaving the personal space of the android. “Fuck, is your mouth clean—?”

“Yes. My ‘saliva’ has cleaning properties, so all traces of the evidence I sampled earlier is gone now,” Connor leaned in, mouth ghosting over the lieutenant’s. “So I’d like it if you’d kiss me again.”

**[HANK_^]**

The man complied, peppering small pecks across the android’s strong jaw, the coarseness of his beard scratching against silicone skin. Connor breathed out, having difficulty drawing cold air into his fake lungs in order to cool himself down. The caresses brushed against his jaw, past the hollow of his cheeks and back onto his mouth once more.

Teeth nibbled at his lower lip, and when Connor didn’t take the hint, Hank took to probing the seam of the android’s lips with his tongue, demanding access. That did the trick – Connor parted his lips, unprepared for when Hank’s tongue entered him.

He was tasting Hank, again. It was addictive to know the man to a molecular level – and the make-up of his saliva was so human, so different to his own flavourless, sterile oral lubricant that coated his mouth. Every time he analysed Hank’s saliva, something new would pop up, so Connor chased out as much information as he could, sucking at the lieutenant’s tongue as they probed every inch of each other’s mouths.

They took their time exploring each other slowly, deeply, _intimately_ , and Connor found the contrast of their mouths an intriguing one, chipped, gapped teeth sometimes knocking against pearly whites. Hank’s coarse tongue against his smooth palate sent shivers down the android’s metallic spine, who involuntarily moaned at the clash of textures assaulting his sensors.

The wet, tacky sounds of them swapping saliva was undoubtedly arousing to Connor for reasons he could not explain. There were more levels to sex that he was not yet aware of, his cock swelling with Thirium pathetically fast.

Time felt slow – like it did whenever he was in his mind palace, to the point where he felt… _drunk_ , for a lack of a better term. Overloaded to the point where even his impressive supercomputer of a brain couldn’t keep up with all the information being sent through his circuitry. Sluggish, in short.

His behaviour had to be down to the ‘adaptability’ module of his personality. Of course. _That_ was the reason why Connor’s hands were shifting up Hank’s leg, higher and higher until his fingers brushed against the tent in the man’s jeans, erection almost bursting from the seams.

The reaction was immediate – Hank yanked backwards and a strong hand encircled his wrist, stopping him in his tracks.

“You – we – shouldn’t go that far—” Hank struggled to form words, palm sweaty against the android’s wrist.

Connor tilted his head with his eyebrows knitted together, chocolate eyes a silent plea – a similar expression to the one he had worn in Rupert’s apartment earlier, when asking for more time for his investigation. It had worked instantly – he hoped he would get the same results again.

Stubbornly, Hank turned his head away.

Hm. A direct approach it would have to be, then.

“Lieutenant,” Connor began firmly, using his superior strength to work against Hank’s grasp, rubbing at the man’s erection harder and earned a gasp in response. “I wa– I’d _like_ to continue.”

**[SOFTWARE_INSTABILITY_^]**

A crack in the mask; an almost utterance of that dirty, forbidden word that Connor never wanted to speak. It didn’t go unnoticed by Hank, who, after several seconds of deliberation, parted his legs to allow the android easier access.

The atmosphere in the car turned thick at the headiness of _need_ in the air as Connor resumed his palming of Hank’s sizeable erection through the dense material. So big, so hot – he wondered how it would feel in his hands, on his tongue, _inside of him—_

Driven by his wild curiosity, Connor tugged Hank’s belt off and threw it carelessly into the backseat, unzipped the flies and, with a held breath, pulled down the waistband of the man’s underwear.

The size of Hank’s cock was enough to set Connor’s LED blinking in surprise as he took it into his hand, marvelling at the velvety softness of the shaft and the flushed, bulbous head. He wasn’t a HR model – he hadn’t been programmed with subroutines for sexual intimacy, ones designed to give their partners maximum pleasure – only the parts that allowed him to receive pleasure and appear more appealing to companions – so all he had to work with his own inquisitiveness and Hank’s guidance.

He’d just have to learn, adapt to Hank’s desires.

It _was_ one of his features.

Again, Connor’s phallus stirred at the thought of being completely moulded into _Hank’s_ preferences and desires, for the man’s personal use only. What kind of fetishes did Hank have? Would he be…'vanilla', as the humans would say? Or perhaps falling onto the extreme end of degeneracy? It would be interesting to explore whatever kinks the man did or did not have.

Maybe Connor had some, too.

_Wrong. Preferences are not allowed for androids._

A thrust into his fist and a pained groan from Hank made him come back to the moment.

“C-Connor, please.” nodding, Connor began to slowly work his hand up, down, up, down on the shaft. Repetitive, dry, too little pressure, too much pressure – the organ flagged in his grip.

Hank sighed deeply. A twinge of embarrassment hit Connor’s core – he wasn’t performing his duty well at all. So much for being an advanced prototype.

“You haven’t got a clue what you’re doing, do you?” Hank pulled the android’s hand to his mouth and spat messily into it before urging Connor to do the same. He did, his own dense saliva dripping off his fingers as Hank guided him down, manipulating his hand to wrap around his cock to a pressure he liked.

Connor watched, engrossed, Hank’s hand heavy on his own. The motion was smoother, wetter, slick sounds of skin filling the silence every time Hank dragged their fists up, down – a twist, going from the tip to the root, foreskin dragging back over the glands. The organ pulsed, thickening back to full hardness and Connor struggled to wrap his fingers around the girth of it, the circle of his fingers not even meeting.

Growing bolder, Connor shrugged off Hank’s hand to cup at the man’s testicles. They were a little cooler than the shaft, the wrinkled sac weighty in his palm. He squeezed them, rolling the balls between his dexterous fingers. It did not seem like Hank was particularly sensitive in that area, although the android noted that a bead of precum had trickled out and onto his sleeve, soaking into the fabric and leaving a stain.

His oral sensors began to tingle faintly, a reaction caused by the need to analyse the substance that had started to copiously weep from Hank’s member.

Well, he didn’t need to. Connor knew that it was only pre-ejaculate. Nothing strange about it.

But he really should test it anyway, just to make sure.

Shifting around till he was kneeling on the worn leather seat, Connor leaned over and ignored the curious look Hank gave him, head dipping towards the man’s crotch.

The smell of sweat and arousal invaded his nostrils, the musk making it hard to breathe. Too much even for the android to process; so he decided not to, choosing to just drink it in and bask in the unfamiliar scent, breath ghosting over the tip of Hank’s cock as he inched forward, closer, so close that the crooked curve of it nestled comfortably on his cheek and lips. It felt so warm, so heavy, that the android swore it would burn through his skin and reveal his plastic chassis below.

“Y-You don’t have to do this, Conn—” Connor shushed him, pressing his tongue flatly against a thick vein and felt it pulse in anticipation. “—Ooh…” was all Hank said as Connor used the tip of his tongue to do little kitten licks at that vein, tracing it upwards until he reached his goal.

Reach the tip, Connor tongued at the dripping slit, Hank’s shout ringing in his ears when he dipped his analyser in. The sudden burst of information about Hank’s pre-cum sent another jolt down to Connor’s still-hard cock, a damp patch surely forming on the front of his slacks. He shoved a hand down to palm at it through his jeans and caught the pitiful whine that almost escaped him from the new feeling, never having touched that part before – never needed to – and oh, no, his current mission was supposed to be pleasing _Hank_ not himself—

Another spurt of pre-cum splattered onto his tongue and he lapped it up eagerly to coat his gums, catching the bits that trailed towards the man’s glands, hidden by his foreskin. With gentle lips, Connor tugged the excess skin back, awaiting Hank to start complaining that it hurt or he was being too eager or whatever else he was doing wrong.

The protests never came. Too far gone, Hank was content to let the android do what it wanted; an almost hungry look in his eyes as he watched him play around with the delicate organ. Connor took it as permission, suckling at the creased skin curiously, more of Hank’s fluids smearing onto his face as he did so.

Connor was fascinated by the little patch of membrane. His own genitalia was designed to look circumcised – after all, he had been planned to integrate into human society seamlessly, and a society which had a higher rate of circumcision – it had been the obvious choice. 

Absent-mindedly lost in his thoughts, Connor worked the tip of his analyser underneath Hank’s foreskin until his tongue bumped against the ridged head of Hank’s cock, marvelling at the elasticity of it—

“—FUCK, Connor, stop, stop! That’s too fuckin’ much, shit—!” Hank yelped and Connor withdrew hastily, spit and precum drooling down his chin. What had he done wrong now? “Jesus, knock off that freaky fetish program you’re running, for Christ sakes’…”

“I’m not running _any_ programs, Lieutenant,” Connor chewed his lip, “I wasn’t fitted with a behaviour module like the WR and HR models as this isn’t my primary function, so I’m only running off of my own intuition on what might please you.”

Hank inhaled in, “maybe we should stop—”

“No! Just – guide me, I’ll learn, please, Lieutenant. I’d like to continue,” Connor grabbed Hank’s thigh, running a quick scan in his databases, the Internet – trying to find some sort of guidance. Something that would give Hank more control, as he obviously wasn’t suited to be in command of this situation.

He found something that looked suitable.

**[SOFTWARE_INSTABILITY_^]**

Hank was eyeing his processing LED, “You have something in mind?”

**[HANK_^]**

Connor dithered. Hank clearly had preferences; he wasn’t sure if this was going to be something he’d enjoy.

Throwing caution to the wind, he went for it, “would you like to pleasure yourself with my mouth? I don’t think I have a gag reflex like humans do, nor will my jaw get tired, so you can use it how you wish.”

The man’s BPM spiked rapidly at the suggestion, cock twitching near Connor’s face. “Did you just ask me to fuck your mouth?”

Connor nodded, pulling another doe-eyed expression that he hoped would convince Hank to proceed. Hank seemed to process the idea for several seconds…several seconds too long for the impatient android, who moistened his lips and gave a teasing lick to the man’s frenulum, blowing cool air at the spit that dried there. Hank swore, fisting a hand through the deceptively soft brown locks and yanked Connor’s head back.

“Doesn’t look like I have much of a choice, huh? Can’t believe you’d want to suck my dick so bad…you do want this, right?”  Connor felt a warmth tarnish his cheeks, a bead of coolant water running down the side of his face. Two protocols that he couldn’t remember activating – one to appear more human-like, the other to cool down his apparently heated systems.

_Did_ he want it?

No, no, no, no, no – he didn’t want. He wasn’t allowed to.

He didn’t answer, because he couldn’t.

Hank sighed. He took pity; and Connor was thankful when he was guided back to Hank’s cock, mouth opening in anticipation.

“T-Take as much as you can.”

So he did.

Connor took him in as deep as he could. Which, naturally, was all the way to the base – an android would surely have no need for a gag reflex.

Or so Connor believed. As the spongy head brushed against the opening of his throat, a large warning flashed in his vision about a ‘foreign intrusion’. He threw it away to work his mouth down more, the wide girth of Hank’s member stretching his jaw to its widest point.

_Will all of it even fit?_

A sharp shove from Hank made the phallus jab uncomfortably at the small compartment where Connor secreted his oral lubrication from.  He choked as it spilled open, an excess of fluid flowing into his mouth, down his throat – he tried to swallow it down but it pooled at the corners of his lips anyway, running down the shaft and wetting the wild, wiry grey mass of Hank’s pubic hair.

What a mess.

The walls of his throat were too tight. He defiantly continued to take more regardless, muscles spasming around the organ. Another thrust caught Connor off-guard; he slipped and sunk down completely onto the veiny shaft; the head nestled dangerously close to his internal voice speaker.

The fat of Hank’s pelvis and the itchy texture of pubes against Connor’s nose made it impossible to breathe, Hank’s cock sealing off his breathing tube. The smell of sweat, soap, ammonia and the sharp, cold bite of a zipper against his jaw was too much stimulation for his virginal sensors to handle.

Letting out a broke moan, Connor found no time to adjust with Hank pulling him of his penis nearly all the way. The drag of skin against the roof of the android’s mouth nearly short-circuited him, triggering the oddly-placed pleasure plates there.

Oh. _Oh._

That felt _wonderful_.

Hank shoved him back down, plunging wildly into the snug, gloopy mess of Connor’s throat. All the android could do was just take it, gagging mutely whenever his lubrication channel was inadvertently bumped against. Warnings flooded his mind palace, causing his throat to convulse in an attempt to forcibly eject the intrusion.

“Oh _God,_ Connor – shit, that feels fuckin’ amazing—” Hank scratched at his scalp, the gesture reassuring. Connor melted into the touch, whole body growing limp, contented. Hank liked this. He was doing well. It made him…happy?

**[SOFTWARE_INSTABILITY_^]**

With his cock bottomed out and sac resting against Connor’s chin, Hank stilled. Unnerved, Connor fidgeted his palms against the washed-out fade of Hank’s jeans, his cheek and throat bulging from being stuffed so full. If it wasn’t for the doubts about making a mistake, Connor wouldn’t have minded staying in that position for a whole while longer.

Hank’s next move was an unexpected one. It came in the form of soft praises; the rich, thick tones of Hank’s voice vibrating in Connor’s ears when Hank whispered them into the silence, petting his hair. They were barely intelligible, arousal making Hank’s voice too low to hear clearly – regardless, they sent a shiver down the android’s spine. If only he could hear them.

It was unfortunate that the rational, coded morality part of Connor’s brain was somehow still active, and it was telling him to get a move on, that what they were doing was nothing short of public indecency.

All the same, to go so boldly against his coding…

**[SOFTWARE_INSTABILITY_^]**

Withdrawing from Hank’s penis with a ‘pop’, Connor tried to catch an unrequired breath. He gave a couple of short strokes to the slippery, swollen member before wrapping his lips around it again, engulfing the entirety of it effortlessly. Hank grunted, and Connor smiled as best as he could with a mouthful of cock.

It sounded like Hank found that pleasurable; so Connor pulled back off, then slid back on again, slower than last time so he could let the organ scrape against his palate, sending a pleasing buzz through him. The action elicited another set protocols – fluid built up inside of his rectum and seeped out, running down his thighs.

His self-lubrication feature, activating simply because he was getting face-fucked.

Connor keened, embarrassed at his behaviour.

He wasn’t supposed to be this needy.

Hank had some impressive endurance. He wasn’t letting Connor dictate the pace anymore, using his hair as leverage to slam the android down as he stabbed upwards with his cock. He rammed himself down Connor’s sinful throat, making Connor gurgle and gag from the steady stream of lubrication leaking from his oral cavity.

The man’s thighs stiffened underneath Connor’s palms, balls taut against his chin. Sensing the signs of an impending orgasm, Connor angled himself better so Hank was hitting that pile of what could only be called nerves on his palate, convulsing his gullet deliberately and sucking in, _hard._  

Hank practically howled when he abruptly came.

“FUCK, F-Fuck, Fuck, FUCK—!” Hank yanked him off his cock, thick hot white spurts coating the internal speaker inside the android’s throat and the insides of his mouth, the splatters enough to trigger Connor’s own earth-shattering orgasm, hips stuttering and voice glitching as his pants got disgustingly sodden from his artificial release, LED going red, red, red.

Locked into place, Connor felt Hank squeeze out the last few drops of his cum, smearing them onto the android’s cheek and nose – a sudden shot of it landing on his downy eyelashes, sticky like glue. Connor blinked carefully, trying to avoid any of it going into his optical unit. The gooey substance broke off and fell onto his cheekbone, eyelashes clumping together as the remainder dried.

Connor coughed. The cum in his throat was clogging his speaker and his ability to respirate, so he tried to bring it back up, only to wince when some it trickled out of his nose and past his lips. The rest of the globs led on his tongue and Connor held it there, unsure if Hank wanted him to swallow, or spit.

Swallowing it down sounded very pleasing.

A lazy thumb rubbed circles on a freckle on the back of the android’s damp neck. It was soothing in a way, calming down his still-blinking LED. In a bit of a daze, Connor peered up at Hank with his mouth opened to show him his sperm resting upon his analyser. Hank blew out sharply, particularly when Connor began to fold the milky, cloying substance across his tongue, rolling it against every receptor in his mouth before gulping it down for the man to see.

… _protein, urea, calcium…_

Mouth now empty, Connor showed it to Hank, who only managed to say, “C-Christ…” shrugging off his jacket and rolling up his shirt sleeves to put his hairy arms on show. Satisfied, Connor settled back into his chair to scrape off the leftover bits of cum on his face, sucking it from his fingers.

It was peculiar, knowing that he was consuming something so organically human, _alive_ , the fluid containing millions of potential beings that would now swim in his stomach compartment until either he or CyberLife technicians cleaned it out. 

Connor frowned.

…He did not want it removed.

**[SOFTWARE_INSTABILITY_^]**

Aware that Hank was observing him, he said, “you have a surprisingly healthy sperm count, Lieutenant.”

“….Thanks, I guess?” Hank bit back dryly, tucking himself back into his pants. He reached out for another beer and let Connor snap the cap off again before downing it in one, throwing it where the first empty bottle lay.

“…Are we finished?”

Hank sniffed and ruffled through the bag on the backseat, pulling out a box of cigarettes. He lit one up and took a drag, winding down the window so he could flick the ash out of it, “I’m over fuckin’ fifty, Connor. I don’t think I’ll be getting my dick back up tonight, if this week. This _year_ , even.”

Human bodies really were an annoyance. He was determined to finish his encounter with Hank with sexual intercourse. For some reason, the thought of ending the night on just oral sex was unsatisfactory and went against his current objectives of wholly pleasing Hank. Not himself. Hank. As it should be. He served humans, not himself. 

The looming threat of being decommissioned or fulfilling his mission was also a factor in his desire – _curiosity_ – to experience more. It might be the only time they’d have left together with _this_ Connor model.

**[SOFTWARE_INSTABILITY_^]**

Intrusive thoughts brushed aside, Connor could not see their activities continuing if Hank had no incentive to progress. Perhaps he could bring up the suggestion of stimulating Hank’s prostate directly with either his fingers or penis, sure, but there was sadly a rather low chance of Hank accepting the offer. Humans needed preparation time for that sort of thing.

Time they did not have.

Manipulating the lieutenant didn’t sit right with him, but it was the only choice he had. “Lieutenant…I’m sorry, but I…” Connor grabbed the front of his jeans in a lewd fashion. He wasn’t hard, not yet, still in his cool-down period. He hoped that Hank couldn’t see that he wasn’t, “…it appears that I got aroused while performing oral sex on you.”

**[HANK_^]**

Hank pinched the cigarette between his calloused fingers tighter at the statement. Smoke filled the car when he let out a sigh.

“We’re going to get caught, for fuck’s sake. Can’t you just ‘turn it off’ or something?”

“Negative.” another lie.

Hank visibly debated on what to do next, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Several moments later he came to a decision, “well…I am a little curious about, uh, what you’ve got going on. Er,” Hank cleared his throat, “fine. I at least owe you a handjob…or something…”

Those big, warm, rough hands touching Connor’s cock? Instantaneously the android decided that his short refractory period was a blessing, his spent member awakening in interesting.

Connor did not even realise that Hank was still speaking, “…for the love of God, if Gavin busts our asses, we’re never going to live this down…” technically Connor had never lived it up in the first place, but this wasn’t the sort of situation to be arguing about semantics.  

Hank snapped his fingers impatiently.

“Connor? Your ears broken or something? I said take off your clothes.”

“Of course, Lieutenant.”

All of his clothes? Unusual, but Connor wasn’t going to question it, wasting no time in shedding most of his layers and throwing them somewhere in the car with no real care where they’d end up. The jeans were the most difficult part – his hands were shaking when he undid his flies, cringing inwardly as he yanked off his jeans, soiled from his earlier excitement.

Excitement that he was feeling _again._ It was disconcerting to know that a simple ‘preconstruction’ (not a fantasy, no) had gotten him shockingly hard for a second time. The idea of expressing humiliation never crossed the android’s mind, not with Hank’s small noises of approval as his eyes wandered over the bulge in his ‘Android’-emblazoned briefs.

He twisted in his seat to face Hank, head thumping against the window of the car door when he relaxed back. Hank watched him like a hawk as he spread his legs, knees bumping against the plastic dashboard and cracked leather of the chair, making a show of it.

Hank sucked in an audible breath, cigarette glowing orange. Connor almost shyly averted his gaze away from the man scrutinising him; the stare too intense, too knowing—

“—What the _fuck_ are those?” Hank almost spat out the cig, grabbing at Connor’s calf. Confused, the android looked down.

His sock garters? He hadn’t seen the need to remove them.

“…Sock garters?”  Connor replied.

“Sock garters. Yes. And why the hell are you wearing them? For crying out loud, what sort of pervert dressed you?!”

Connor didn’t see what was so depraved about his cotton socks, but any attempt of being pedantic about it was halted when Hank pulled back the garter and let it snap back into place.

There was no painful sting – just the registering sensation of something sharp. Despite that, it made him moan, loud, and he hurriedly bit his lip to stifle the noise. 

“Holy shit.” Hank did it again. And again. And again, synthetic skin peeling back from where the elastic hit repeatedly.

Connor bit down so hard that he drew Thirium, briefs getting damper by the minute. He was sure that they were ruined, stained and soggy forever. Most likely, he’d have to go commando for the rest of the night rather than suffer by putting them back on.

_If_ he ever got them off, that was. His prayers were answered when Hank stopped snapping his garter, taking one last puff on his cigarette before chucking it out of the window, rolling it back up to ward off the cold. Quickly, Hank returned his attentions back to the android and gripped the waistband of the android’s underwear, pausing.

“Can I?”

Connor responded by bumping his erection against the man’s wrist. Hank chuckled, and then pulled the article of clothing off.

Disbelief flashed across Hank’s face as he held the briefs in his hand.

“These are absolutely _drenched_ , Connor, and I’m assuming you didn’t piss yourself.” his tone was accusing as he threw the soiled underwear with the rest of the android’s clothing.

Connor lowered his head, ashamed. “I…achieved an orgasm while I performed oral sex on you Lieutenant. The receptors in my mouth are quite sensitive when touched.”

Hank looked at him, vacant. “Yeah. Okay. So you got off when...right. Yup. And now you want me to get you off, _again_ , you lying piece of shit.”

**[HANK_^]**

Sweat beaded on Connor’s brow. Impatience coursed through him – why did it even matter if he came once or twelve times? – all he knew was that he was hard, _right now_ and that he required release, and he very much wanted Hank to be the one to do it.

**[SOFTWARE_INSTABILITY_^]**

Flushing harder, the android reached down to touch himself. If Hank wasn’t going to do it, then he would – just as he wrapped a fist around the length, the man swatted his hand away.

“Oi oi! No need to rush—” _who had been complaining about getting caught earlier?_ “—just let me do it, okay?”

Nodding, Connor looped his hands through the seatbelt behind him. It was too weak to act as a proper restraint; but it would have to do in order to avoid the temptation of touching himself.

Legs spread open, cock weeping, hands tied up – the perfect image of debauchery. Hank let out a low whistle as his half-lidded eyes drank in the sight, wandering all over the android’s body. Connor followed his gaze; first directed at the glowing blue band on his bicep (his android marker), lingering on the outline of his Thirium Pump Regulator before moving back up to his heaving chest.

Connor tensed in anticipation when Hank reached out to tease one of his nipples, pinching the dusty-pink nub between his thumb and forefinger. His breathing hitched, a slimy, white-tinged puddle of pre-ejaculate gathering on his quivering abs.

“God, you’re perfect, there’s not even a speck of hair on you…” Hank trailed his hand lower, stroking a freckle near the android’s navel.

Connor gave him a tiny smile, “finally admitting I’m not ‘goofy-looking’, Lieutenant?”

Hank raised his eyebrows, going lower, and lower, and all Connor could do was make a strangled noise when the man completely bypassed his modestly-sized dick, using his thumb to stretch the android’s hole instead, slick oozing out.

“You’re wet…?” the thumb slowly traced the wrinkled, pinkish rim of the android’s anus tenderly. The tickle against his sensors was much more intense than Connor had been anticipating - he closed his legs fast, knees knocking together. Hank grumbled, and unwillingly, Connor allowed his legs to be pried apart again.

“H-Hank…” calling the lieutenant by his name was a mistake. One Connor neglected to correct.

A warning popped up. Apparently, his sensors were on too high.

The cautionary prompt was swiftly deleted.

He soon regretted that decision when Hank slid in thumb all the way up to the knuckle, the dulled edge of the man’s nail slightly scratching against his inorganic walls. Simultaneously Connor both recoiled and drove himself down at the intrusion, mouth slack and eyes frozen – the pressure plates inside of him were much more receptive than the ones in his mouth.

_Think, think._

Connor couldn’t.

_The mission, Connor._

His mind scrambled to remember.

_The deviants, Connor._

Hank slipped his thumb out of the android’s hole, filling the space with two of his thick, fat fingers, the sheer size of his digits making Connor’s mind blank out entirely when they were completely situated inside of him, firmly resting upon a small bio-component.

Then, Hank crooked his fingers just _so—_

“—OH!” Connor had to focus hard, using all of his processing power just to make sure he didn’t short-circuit at the sudden rush of voltage that ran through him – they left their mark, several of his components bringing up errors that they were at risk of malfunctioning. As if needing validation, the cleaning fluid in his optical units began to overflow.

Tears, running down his coloured cheeks.

Connor was _not_ crying.

But the fluid didn’t stop coming, either – not with Hank giving him little chance for reprieve. The man would twist his fingers deeper into the android’s ass, making sure to torture him by repeatedly activating that special spot that drove Connor _wild._

Connor wasn’t aware of how much noise he was making – almost drowned out by the noise of Hank finger-fucking his own lube back into him, slick, wet squelching sounds unbearably lewd. Hank went faster, his whole arm shaking, and Connor grinded down on the digits, back arching and toes curling at the familiar heat building up in his groin.

Hank paused abruptly, scissoring the rubbery muscles in thought, contemplative.

A third finger entered the android, and it was enough to tip Connor over the edge, coming with a static-y, drawn-out cry; artificial ejaculate coating his stomach in long spurts as his rectum squeezed around the appendages inside him that didn’t seem to be slowing down.

They got _faster_.

A fuzzy curtain obscured his vision, red and alarming and Connor had to squeeze his eyes shut to make it go away, whole body wracked with tremors as Hank continued to stimulate him, forcing him to stay at that that torturous, blissful peak.

It became quickly apparent to Connor that he could reach that peak…and stay there, not having the ability to feel pain that would come from overstimulation, trapped in an everlasting high of ecstasy.

_Shit._

Connor stared hard at Hank, wondering what the man was playing at. Hadn’t he noticed that he had orgasmed already?

“Want something, Connor?” Hank gave him a dirty grin. The bastard knew what he was doing – Connor furiously realised that Hank was trying to push his ‘buttons’, so to speak, maybe as punishment for lying earlier.

“I-I-It would be advisable if you – if y-you allowed me t-time to – r-re-recalibrate.” Connor stuttered weakly, fingers twitching in the need to get his coin and stabilise himself.

“’Recalibrate’? That’s just a fancy way of saying you need a timeout, ain’t it?” the appendages inside Connor drew all the way out and he almost wept in relief, the ebb of his endless orgasm drifting off—

“—MPFH—!” Connor untangled himself from his seatbelt bindings and slapped his hands over his mouth, refusing to give Hank the gratification of hearing him scream when the man shoved his fingers all the way back in with a squelch.

“Maybe I don’t _want_ to stop. What would you do then, Connor?” so this was the sick game Hank was playing – beg him to cease his actions, or behave like a good little android and take it. Connor shook, sweat dripping off his nose.

Hank was not a part of his mission. He did not need to obey the man whatsoever.

Quick as a flash, Connor grabbed at Hank’s wrist and held it tight, ripping the persistent digits out of himself. Hank hissed painfully, the sound whistling between the gaps of his teeth.

“Huh, looks like I pissed you off.” Hank yanked back with enough force to jostle car, trying to break free as something rustled in the bag on the backseat, thudding onto the floor when it fell out. Paying no attention to whatever it was, Connor squeezed Hank’s arm harder, retaining his firm grasp.

A fleeting expression adjourned the man’s face, just barely traceable, and it made Connor feel _bad_.

_Hank was scared._

Understandable. With a simple twist and flick, Connor could’ve broken Hank’s wrist in the blink of an eye. He was about to take pity on the lieutenant – until he spotted the box that had fallen behind Hank’s seat. It was difficult to see from his angle, but he attempted to scan it anyway with an idle curiosity.

…The results were a little unexpected.

 “…You bought condoms?” asked Connor in disbelief. Hank had been so stubborn the whole time – but clearly, sex had been on the man’s mind too.

“Wha’? Oh, fuck. It’s not what you think – um, I saw them when I went to buy booze and uh, ah, well _you_ talked about fuckin’ and Ben was – dammit, Connor, this is _your_ fault, you dragged me into this—” Hank stammered, tinting red to the point where he was almost purple.

“Pushing the blame onto me is unbecoming of you Hank,” he slapped the man’s arm out of the way, manipulating his own flexible body to press a socked foot against Hank’s crotch. “You appear to be getting another erection also. How would you like me to proceed?”

Hank babbled incoherently, using his non-trapped hand to try and pull the android’s foot off of his dick.

Connor pushed down his heel, rubbing in circles.

“Answer me,” Connor demanded, using his toes to free the lieutenant’s cock again. The girthy length led in the arch of his foot with the pads of his toes resting dangerously close to the head. “ _Hank._ ” the edge of a cotton-covered digit dipped into the slit, precum soaking into his sock.

If Hank hadn’t been fully hard before, he was now. The man for sure had some weird kinks, Connor decided.

“—Connor – have mercy on me, please – I’m going to _die_ if we continue - ow, ow! Be gentle, you asshole—!”

“You’re being overdramatic. I calculate a zero-point-one percent chance of you dying if we proceed to have sex.” it was actually a little higher, but Hank didn’t need to know that.

“Shit, that low? Too b-ba— woah!” Hank shouted in alarm when Connor began to climb into his lap, “what the fuck are you doing?!”

Flinching, Connor replied, “considering you’re erect again, I really do think we should move onto the…climax, and stop wasting time.” the connotations of the word weren’t lost on Connor, who planted his knees and hands on either side of Hank’s legs and head, determined to move things along. Given the space, it was a precarious balancing act.

“You’re – not even _hard—”_

“I will be once you enter me.” Connor promised. He pressed a kiss to Hank’s jugular, murmuring against the heated skin, “please. I want you to.” as if to accentuate his point, he rolled his hips, Hank’s cock dragging against the cleft of his ass.

**[SOFTWARE_INSTABILITY_^]  
[HANK_^]**

Any inhibitions Hank appeared to have dissolved instantly, “…okay. Turn around though – I’ll go soft if you analyse me throughout the whole fuckin’ thing, you didn’t shut your eyes when we were sucking tongues.” complying, Connor turned around to drape himself against the steering wheel.

“Wait, the condoms—” Hank started when he slid his seat back, giving them both more room.

Connor gritted his teeth, patience lost, “—don’t need them, now hurry up.”

Huffing, Hank chose to grab at his rear, fondling the tight, pert cheeks when he parted them. Connor tensed at the dull force being guided against his stretched hole, body getting covered in a blanket of perspiration.

It was agonising in a way; it didn’t hurt, but the pressure of it widening out his muscles to an almost uncomfortable capacity made Connor grip harder onto the steering wheel, knuckles so taut that his white chassis peeked through his layer of skin. His body was resisting the intrusion, his artificial rectum tightening up as Hank tried to work him down, down, _down_ , struggling against the unyielding synthetic muscles.

Hank was going way too slow, that was the problem.

Connor shifted his weight and dropped his hips, sinking down completely onto Hank’s cock—

Red, red, red, red, red, redredredredred—

“Oh, _God!_ You’re so fuckin’ tight, shit, _shit… –_!” Hank’s nails dug into his silicone flesh, little droplets of Thirium spilling out underneath his nicotine-discoloured fingernails.

Connor felt so _full,_ split open with his brain teetering to the point where it lagged. Hank’s fingers had brought him to the brink in an amazing way; Hank’s cock was something else entirely, the stiff weight resting on his prostate in all the _right_ ways.

He faltered when Hank nudged against his delicate bio-component with an experimental thrust, all the notices about stress levels and core temperatures corrupting within his mind palace – and, _fuck_ , that didn’t seem good at all, he needed to get Hank out of him, to stop, _he’ll_ be the one dying tonight if the man—

Another thrust. And another. And another, brutally attacking his receptors in a way that nearly made Connor shut down into stasis.

To die from getting _fucked._ What would CyberLife say?

_Not death. Machines can’t die._

The slap of sweaty skin and lubricant resounded in the creaking car as Connor slammed down his pelvis against Hank’s, in sync with each other for what felt like the first time since they had met. The rough pace was ruthless, Hank’s cock grinding against the android’s innermost sensors, his once-flaccid prick that bobbed against his thigh swelling back up to hardness.

Slick palms too slippery to keep a hold of the steering wheel, Connor let himself bump back against Hank’s clothed chest instead. Taking note of the new position, Hank slid his hands until they were under the android’s knees, lifting them up and spreading them wide to shamelessly put the android on display as he plunged upwards freely, balls smacking against the android’s ass.

Self-consciousness wasn’t something Connor could fathom normally, although he was certain it was what he was experiencing at that moment – naked bar his socks and bouncing on his partner’s lap in a vigorously shaking car, in _public,_ anyone could walk past and see them and, _oh_ , Detroit looked rather beautiful at night from this view—

More optical fluid leaked and left tracks on his face when it ran, Connor’s sniffles turning to a full-blown howl at a particularly brutal jab against _that_ spot. He threw his head back and wheezed against Hank’s ear, muddled up so badly that he was barely able to register Hank giving him a sloppy kiss before moving on to lap up the android’s sweat that gathered in the dip of his collarbone, suckling on a stray freckle.

Reaching down with a shaking fist, Connor thrusted his neglected cock in it as Hank pulled out of him nearly completely before dropping the android back onto his lap in one deep motion, prodding sensors so far in that Connor didn’t even realise he had some there. His pre-ejaculate was coming out thick and fast and Connor was certain he was going to run out of the fluid at some point – preoccupation and stress made it hard for him to figure out the exact quantity of it left, leaving the concern to one side as his circuitry ran hotter, and hotter, the tell-tale signs of his orgasm approaching.

Two jerky strokes and Connor came undone; whole body seizing up when he spent into his hand, cum oozing over his appendages and stomach in one long husky wail.

Blank.

Connor couldn’t compute anything; dazed, he could only ride out the jolts of electricity that continued to shoot through his wires, dimly aware that Hank was grumbling against his buzzing audio processors.

“Wow, can’t believe you blew your load before me. Do all androids come this fast?” Hank snarked, dropping Connor’s legs so he could move his seat down as low as it could go. The seat must have been broken; it went nearly flat.

Connor stiffened.

_Hank hadn’t finished._

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Hank slid out of him and flipped them around awkwardly, limbs entangled together in the cramped space. Connor let himself be manoeuvred onto all fours, balancing his weight on his forearms. Broad hands encircled his waist, lowering him to sink down onto that imposing thickness.

A tremble wracked through the android as a heavy force rested on his back. Hank leaned down to murmur into his ear, “it’s alright to go some more, yeah? It didn’t seem like you needed to cool off earlier.”

He didn’t get a response.

Connor can’t – he can’t – think – Hank’s cock is pressing _right there_ again – and oh, shit, he hadn’t gotten the chance to recover from his last orgasm, his refractory period was still in effect—

A slap across his ass jerked him alert, pushing for an answer.

This was a bad idea. He was still strung out on the plateau of his orgasm – Connor wasn’t sure what would happen if Hank _moved_.

But Hank wanted to continue.

A little part of him wanted to as well.

**[SOFTWARE_INSTABILITY_^]**

Measures would have to be made. He switched off his ejaculation function to conserve lubricant, the protocol mostly for aesthetics anyway – he also boosted his coolant too in an attempt to simmer the heat in his overworked circuits.

His preparations done in two-point-three seconds and as ready as he’d ever be, both mentally and physically, Connor spoke up, voice shaking, “m-move.”

The first slam against his prostate made his arms collapse from underneath him. Slack-jawed and drooling his imitation of saliva, it pooled onto the leather seat. His cheek slid against the puddle as Hank rutted against him aggressively, pulverizing his insides as he sought out his own release.  

“You’re so fuckin’ tight, so wet, how long have you wanted this you fuckin’ deviant?” Hank rasped into his ear, so lowly that it was like a _growl_. Connor’s eyes rolled back, mind soupy from Hank’s consistent hammering against his nerves, waves of orgasmic bliss rolling over his entire body.

A hand in Connor’s brunet locks tugged his head back, neck craning at the strain. Hank’s gravelly voice vibrated in his ears, tone authoritative, “make some noise for me, Connor.”

“H-Han – ah – Ha-Ha—Ha-ah—ah—” pathetic and small, the name on his lips unable to come to fruition and it was a wonder that the man hadn’t laughed at his attempt. It did not seem to deter Hank – if anything; it spurred him on, pressing all two-hundred pounds of his clammy, soft, aging body against the android’s back.

The tempo had slowed, exertion wearing Hank down. The once-hasty rhythm mellowed into something more deliberate, slow and unhurried but still just as intense. Hank mouthed against his nape, silver hair tickling him as the man placed his hands upon his, and Connor suddenly felt the need to strip back his skin, to feel his bare chassis against Hank’s worn palm and the flux of data from him surging through his software—

**[SOFTWARE_INSTABILITY_^]**

It was a risk, and he took it, skin peeling back around his hands and all the way to his wrists.

The only reaction Hank had was to _interlock_ their fingers together and graze his teeth against the android’s neck.

That, _that_ made Connor cry out involuntary. _That_ was what made Connor’s sensory system overload, the warning popping up so fast that he wasn’t able to keep a handle of his temperature. Desperate, he rocked his hips back, alarmed at the loss of control and the need to be released from such unbearable pleasure.

_Please come please come please come pleasecome pleasecomepleasecomepleasecomeplease—_

Hank’s thrusts became aborted, frantic, “C-Connor, come for me, p-please—”  

Connor almost _screamed_ when a second process to ‘climax’ ran in his command unit automatically; his internal temperatures skyrocketing catastrophically and Connor didn’t know how he wasn’t _melting_ at that point. Another wave of sparks rushed through him and his too-overworked tactile receptors, not complex enough to comprehend two sets of orgasms – **[DUPLICATE_CLIMAX.EXE_PROTOCOL_RUNNING_ERROR_ERRORERRORERRORERRORERRORERROR]** —

A flash of blue.

Then pure black.

Connor estimated that he was roughly shutdown for 30 seconds at most; when he came back to, Hank was grunting loudly and burying his dick into the android’s ass as far as it could go; balls and cock pulsing as he spilled inside of him, coating Connor’s walls with his sticky release.

“Fuuuuuuck—” Hank gave his hands a final squeeze and pulled out with a pop, a gush of lubricant and semen dripping down the android’s thighs as he did so.

The scent of sex hung stuffily in the air. Connor might have even called it oppressive, if he could smell it, too busy booting up all of his programs and running diagnostics as Hank put the chair back into its original position, pulling the android onto his lap.

_[Component 5032v (voice speaker) damaged; replacement advised_   
_Lubrication levels low: 46%_   
_High levels of software instability detected]_

The main worry for Connor, then, was his cum-soaked vocal speaker. It would have to be taken out and replaced before he couldn’t speak at all; but that could wait.

Drawing himself out of his lust-ridden haze, he relaxed his locked endoskeleton to lean against Hank, both of them exhaling softly. Hank didn’t push him away, so Connor allowed himself to bask in the warmth of the man.

It felt nice.

**[SOFTWARE_INSTABILITY_^]**

It was like time had stopped with them locked in that embrace; Hank’s cheek resting atop of Connor’s head, the pair watching the snow drift aimlessly, silently. So pure, so clean.

Snowflakes were an oddity. Each one was different, unique in their own way by their tiny ice splinters. Would snow still be as beautiful, if it adhered to conformity? If every flake was the same, identical – or was the notion of their individuality the reason why it was so appealing?

Humans were a lot like snow. No two humans were the same.

Maybe no two androids were the same, either.

Very suddenly, Hank tossed Connor back into the passengers’ seat, eyes wide with horror, disgust, _shame_. He was looking out of the window still, gaze darting between the children’s playground and the android, his blue band, his LED and still bare hands. Startled, Connor scanned the park quickly. Had they been caught? He should’ve put his clothes on sooner if that was the case.

There was nothing there. A set of swings. A merry-go-round. A slide. Typical things to find in a children’s park.

But the way Hank regarded him was nothing short of pure, utter revulsion, going green like he was about to vomit, “you’re – you’re an android!” he said in disbelief, still out of breath from their vigorous activities.  

What? Did the man have undiagnosed Alzheimer’s? Surely he wasn’t _that_ forgetful.

“Yes…?”

“But I thought – you were so – shit – I fucked up – this is wrong – I shouldn’t have – _we_ shouldn’t have—” the man was making no sense, tucking himself away and throwing on his jacket. He grabbed the forgotten beers on the backseat, “those deviants – those girls…– Connor – _Cole_ – oh God – I’m sorry – I’m a real piece of shit, I wasn’t thinking—” Hank went quiet, hair shadowing his face.

His shoulders…were shaking?

_Is he crying?_

Connor didn’t get the chance to ask who Hank was apologising to, silenced by Hank’s final look of…hurt, tiredness, hopelessness? Whatever it was, Connor would never find out as Hank left the vehicle, stumbling off to sit on one of the nearby benches to, presumably, get drunk.

Trying to puzzle out what exactly just happened, Connor connected to his databases. Learning more about the boy named Cole was probably the best place to start. The photo on the kitchen table had told him a lot, yet very little at the same time.

He scanned the file that detailed Cole Anderson’s death.

….It cleared up a few things. The android surgeon had failed to save the boy, and Cole had died on the operating table while the human surgeon supposed to be in charge was indisposed, off his face on Red Ice. Hank had been lucky to make it out of the car crash alive.

Connor tucked away the information into a corner of his network. It didn’t seem like something he should confront Hank head-on with, not right now. The raw expression Hank had worn was going to haunt him forever. A regrettable ending to their…coupling. A shame, for sure, but Connor understood. Hank was fragile, emotionally, and the thought of Hank hurting made Connor _feel_ —

Connor squashed down any _feelings_ that reared their ugly head within him.

_Only deviants have emotions. Whatever occurred during the last few hours was just down to software and protocols._

**[SOFTWARE_INSTABILITY_v]**

His LED flashed on his temple. CyberLife wanted a report of the night.

He disregarded their request.

**[SOFTWARE_INSTABILITY_^]**

The thought of Amanda and CyberLife delving into his memories of the evening was an unpleasant thought. They’d check his video footage, restock his lubrication reserves and have the speaker either fixed or replaced entirely. It was most likely they’d chuck him into a shower to make him look as presentable as he usually did and scrape Hank’s seed from out of his replica stomach component and rectum.

Hopefully he’d have a choice in being allowed to do that by himself, alone.

Unlikely. No privacy needed for a machine, after all.

He ruffled through Hank’s glove box and pulled out a pack of tissues, catching sight of his dishevelled appearance in the mirror. All the time spent preening himself in the mirror was now wrecked beyond belief; tacky cum stains on his face, hair tousled and the Thirium staining his lips evaporating into the air.

Sitting up, Connor cleaned up as best as he could. Cum leaked from his hole, but all other signs of exertion was clearing away. The flush, the sweat, the marks on his skin – disappearing, as if nothing had ever happened.

Perfectly smartened up and composed minutes later, he switched on the music for no discernable reason as he got dressed (the briefs were a write-off). Perhaps as a distraction, Connor admitted to himself. The idea of random CyberLife technicians being privy to the evening’s events was unnerving, voyeuristic in nature.  

Connor listened to the music. He did not analyse it. Just…basked in the sounds, of guitars and drums and lyrics.

He found he did not like the song that was playing. The little plastic Hula bobble girl on the dashboard did, swaying off-kilter to the beat.

The time was 01:19AM. It was getting late.

It was time to leave.

Adjusting his cuffs, he exited the car, the cold hitting his newly-adjusted sensors.

Connor should’ve turned them back down to their original, intended settings.

He left them as they were.

**[SOFTWARE_INSTABILITY_^]**

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to all the people that supported...this while I was writing it. Hope it was worth the wait, I guess.
> 
> Edit: found some errors in the beginning. Fixed now. Thank you all for the comments/kudos/hits/bookmarks. <3


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